When I told people I was going to study abroad in Lithuania, the reaction was always the same:
“You are going to have so much fun!”
“That’s a once in a lifetime experience—soak it up!”
“You’re going to learn so much.”
And all of those people were right. This is so much fun. This is an experience I probably won’t ever have again. And I have learned so much.
But what those people don’t know (and what I hadn’t expected), was to be so far from home and all of my problems, and still somehow be more depressed, anxious, and lost than I’ve ever been.
This is part of the story no one wants to hear. The pictures I post on facebook are happy. The jokes I tell in class are (sometimes) funny. But, as I’ve told some of my closest friends, inside I feel hollow and empty, like heavy cotton balls have replaced my heart and my brain.
The problem with depression is we can’t always explain it. I could sit down and tell you every sad thing that’s ever happened to me, but that’s not the depression. The depression is the part that makes me numb—the part that makes me drink alone or stand in a freezing cold smoke hut in the middle of the night, trying to feel something, anything. One day last week I got in my bed and tried to make myself cry, but nothing. Depression is nothing.
Or sometimes I feel the sadness getting closer and I get so scared that I run. Like yesterday, when I got out of bed without brushing my teeth or changing my clothes and just got on a bus. And when I missed my stop, I just kept sitting there until the bus driver said, “Viskas.” That’s all. I said, “Oh ok, viskas.” And then I got off the bus in a part of town I’d never seen before. And I wasn’t even scared. Depression is being lost and not giving a single fuck. Depression is wondering into a grocery store and buying the first thing I see, just so I have something to hold onto.
Every night at a house across the street from my dorm, a German shepherd barks for hours, over and over again. It’s so pointless. Sometimes I feel the same way, like my whole life is just a bunch of noise playing on repeat. But on the outside, I smile and laugh. I pretend that everything inside is still in order. But actually, inside is chaos, cold like the Lithuanian nights that set that dog to barking and barking and barking.